Miss You Dearly, Signed Sincerely
by Schuyler
Summary: Spin-off sequel to Something For Jane. Jane Drew is dead and Will tries to ease the pain by writing a letter. Read and review, please!


*Quick Side note: Because ff.net kept cutting me off for unknown reasons on my last two chapters of Something For Jane, I want to say my thank yous here.  Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially Traci, Alana, and Huntress Diana.  I would love to have any of you as a beta reader:: nudge nudge::.

Disclaimer: The Dark Is Rising Sequence and all characters, ideas, and plots involved belong to Susan Cooper.  Not me.  How unfortunate.  

--This story is a spin-off of Something For Jane.  After Silver On The Tree, Jane Drew is dead at the hands of the White Rider and Will Stanton is facing his life without her.  The song here is "Epic Problem" by Fugazi (which everyone should download.  Now.  I said now.)

                                                            *          

_congratulations. top. _

_wish i could be there. stop.  
tell me something i don't know.  
is there anything left to know? _

_stop. stop. stop. stop. stop._
    
                "The weather was lovely back home," Bran Davies said, pulling his coat tightly around himself.  "Damn English winds."  He glanced over at the boy walking next to him.  "Will, this is where you and I get into a fight over Welshmen with chips on their shoulders and why England is superior to Wales in every single way."  He smiled and nudged his friend.
    
                But the other boy only responded with a blank look.  "I don't very much feel like it, Bran."  Will Stanton had grown thinner over the past year, his face had gone from pink and round to pale and gaunt.  The clothes he wore hung on him like a tent, and his hair was long and stringy.  Instead of walking in long strides, Will took small, slow steps, like someone who was waiting for an attack, for something terrible to happen.
    
                "You don't much feel like anything anymore," muttered Bran.  "I come all the way from Wales to visit you for the hols and all you do is mope around."
    
                "Sorry."  Will opened the back door to his family home and Bran followed him inside.  They took off their jackets and shoes in the back hall in silence until a silver pendant around Will's neck caught the light and sparkled.
    
                "You still wear her locket," Bran observed quietly as he took his hat off.
    
                Will glanced up at him sharply.  "I do."  He hung up his jacket slowly and turned away from Bran.  "It doesn't matter anyway."
    
                "It wasn't your fault, Will."
    
                Will nodded, like he always nodded when people told him Jane's death wasn't his fault.  He nodded like he believed them, and it was an unfortunate circumstance beyond his control.  He nodded like an innocent person. "I think I'm going to lay down for a bit," Will said hollowly.  
    
                "I think I'll take a walk around this village of yours," amended Bran, putting his jacket and shoes back on.  "See the sights and what not.  I'll come back and when you've woken up…we can talk, if you want."  
    
                "Maybe." Will murmured.  

_accessory accessory accessory _

accessory accessory accessory  
we regret to inform. stop. 

_miss you dearly signed sincerely. stop._  
  


            Will's attic room had been in disarray since the previous year when the final battle had taken place between the Light and the Dark.  Clothes were strewn all across the floor and the bed, the bureau needed dusting, and a slew of papers overtook the small desk.  

            _Click._

            Will locked the door securely and scurried over to his desk.  He sat down in his chair and took a deep breath before opening the drawer and taking out his favorite blue pen.  The breath he had to take to get the next item was considerably deeper and took up much more time than the previous.

            A picture from Trewissick.  The Drews and Will, laughing and playing on the rocks.  It had been taken on one of their last days at the Grey House.  Simon had finally let up on Will a little bit and they had started to get along.  Of course, before Simon saw Will and Jane kissing and took it upon himself to give Will a black eye.  Simon was dangling Barney's notebook above his head, causing the littler boy to "jump for it", and Will was spinning around with Jane on his back.  They were all laughing.

_tell me something that i don't know _

_is there anything left to know?  
stop. stop. stop. stop. stop.  
accessory accessory accessory _

            Will's hand tightened around the silver frame so much that his knuckles faded into a pale shade of off-white.  He hadn't spoken the Simon or Barney Drew in over six months.  He doubted they had forgiven him, or the Light, for what had happened.

            He placed the picture a few inches in front of him and took out his black journal that he kept locked in the bottom drawer of his desk.  It fell open on it's own to a page that Will turned to often.  

            'Dear Jane,' he scrawled. 'Bran is here.  He arrived yesterday afternoon from Wales.  I'm afraid I've not been the best host possible, or the best son possible, or the best brother possible, or even the best Old One possible.  I suppose I'm being foolish.  Moping about and being distant from people who love me won't erase what happened.'  He paused.

_accessory accessory accessory  
to the time. time. time. time.  
i've got this epic problem _

this epic problem's not a problem for me  
  


            'I just can't stop thinking about how much I miss you. I feel horribly guilty about everything that happened.  Your brothers haven't spoken to me since the funeral, and I don't blame them a bit.  I imagine even you haven't completely forgiven me yet.  If only Merriman were here.  He always knew how to keep me in line.  

            It's increasingly difficult, being an Old One.  For someone who is to have no emotional attachments whatsoever, Arthur himself would faint to see me now.  All I have are emotional attachments.'

_and inside i know i'm broken _

_but i'm working as far as you can see  
i've got this epic problem _

this epic problem's not a problem for me  
  


            'I don't like to worry my mum and dad. They think I'm going for a grunge look or something.  The details of what happened at the tree are pretty confidential.  Only Bran, Merriman, and myself know the truth, but I suspect Simon and Barney don't truly believe you died in a car accident on the way to the train station.  They aren't stupid, after all, and sometimes even magic can't hide the truth.

            So as far as my family knows, I'm fine.  My exterior is just going through a phase, and my heart of gold still beats.  If they only knew how messed up I was inside.  Guilt eats you like a lion.'

_and inside i know i'm broken _

_but i'm working as far as you can see and  
outside it's all production _

_it's all illusion set scenery_

            'I just wish I could talk to you, instead of writing in a stupid journal like you can actually see it.  The death of someone you love is supposed to make you value life more.  Me, it just makes me want to die.  You're gone, Merriman's gone, your brothers have vanished, and even Bran is sick of putting up with me.  I can tell. Life has no meaning when one has no supporting cast.'  Will sat back and exhaled.  His hand was cramped from the quick scrawling, and his eyes were blurry from staring too hard.  He cracked his knuckles and rubbed his eyes.

            'I'll end this now before I have a nervous breakdown.  Miss you dearly.'

            He gently closed the journal and slid it across the desk, as far away from him as it would go.  An experience that should have made him feel better, more purged, had done nothing but make him sink deeper into depression.  He heard the door open downstairs and his mother greeted Bran.  Will sighed and stood up, prepared to put on his super-happy-nothing's-wrong-with-me face.  

            "Will Stanton!" called his mother.  "You come down here this instant and have some supper with the family!"     

            "Coming, Mother!"  cried Will, as cheerfully as he possibly could.  He sighed and got up.  As he was headed towards the door, his leg caught on the open drawer and he pitched forward, headed for the hardwood floor.  Grabbing desperately, Will clawed his desk, causing all the items to crash to the floor.  Will fell anyway.

            He tasted blood in his mouth.  Groaning, he sat up and touched his lip.  Split right in the middle, he thought grimly. Simply smashing.  And a lovely bruise on the knee for my trouble.  He started to clean up the mess he made when he noticed the picture frame, picture side down, smashed on the floor.

            "Perfect!"  he growled.  "Just perfect."  He reached over and picked it up.  The frame came apart in his hands and the picture fluttered to the ground.  Will hemmed and hawed under his breath as he threw the broken frame away and went back to pick up the picture.    He held it up to the light to see if there were any tears or creases.  There weren't, but Will noticed letters shining through the front.  

            He turned it over to reveal a tight cursive script that he had known all too well in the past.

            _You klutz.  I knew it was only a matter of time before you broke the frame.  Just kidding.  I wanted you to find this writing someday, preferably when I wasn't around.  You're a wonderful person and you deserve wonderful things, even if I'm not the one to give them to you.  I know it's hard for you to live your life normally, what with your responsibilities and all, but keep in mind that you're an Old One second, and Will Stanton first.  _

_                                    Miss You Dearly,_

_                                                J. Drew_

Will blinked his eyes about seven times before registering what he was seeing.  He swallowed heavily and felt ill, and his free hand clutched his stomach when he noticed, on the bottom, there was more writing.  It smelled and looked like it had been freshly written.

_P.S. The meaning of life, Will Stanton, is to give life meaning._

He stared blankly at the writing, dumb.  He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, closed it, and finally opened it.  Tears brimmed over his eyes and streamed down his cheeks.  His mouth remained open, and a noise erupted from his throat.

That's where Bran found him a few minutes later, sitting on his bed, laughing and crying all at once, so hard that he couldn't even speak.

_This epic problem's not a problem for me._

A/N: Love it? Hate it?  Let me know because I'm working a thread similar to this.  Any volunteers to beta when I get it going? 


End file.
